


Second Time's the Charm

by genuivity



Series: genuivity's #victuuriweek2017 [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9636980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genuivity/pseuds/genuivity
Summary: Victor and Yuuri—former partners in biology class, first friends, fellow figure skating club captains, and first loves—reconnect thanks to a high school reunion.(For #victuuriweek2017 - day 2: traveling, Yuuri prompt: long distance/reunion)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m dissatisfied with the first and last scenes of this fic, so if you can power through those, you’re golden in my book. Also, Victor and Yuuri are the same age in this fic, if that wasn’t clear.  
> Big thanks to [lablondelalonde](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lablondelalonde/pseuds/lablondelalonde) for being my consultant and cheerleader

It was ten years after graduation, and their high school had coordinated a breakfast reunion. It was free and promised food, and Victor had a free morning, so he went.

And so did Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki, his partner in biology class, his first friend, his fellow figure skating club captain, his first love.

He was a lot of things to Victor. But they had grown distant over the years, strangers now.

They made eye contact for a second, then quickly looked away, then glanced back when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Victor, in both curiosity and pettiness, wanted to catch up. See what he’d been up to without him. So, since Victor wasn’t the type to give much forethought, he approached him.

“Hello, Yuuri,” he said. Great start.

“Hi, Victor,” said Yuuri. His voice was deeper now, but still on the quiet side.

“How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.”

Years ago, Victor had imagined their reunion. He pictured running into Yuuri’s arms, maybe on a beach somewhere, or at an airport, with declarations of love and promises to never leave. Not uncomfortable small talk at a cheap high school reunion over donuts and orange juice.

“You cut your hair,” Yuuri noted softly.

“Oh, yeah.” He ran a hand to push his silver bangs back. “I actually cut it a few years ago.”

Yuuri looked apologetic. “Y-You did? Sorry, I’m not good at keeping up with people.”

Victor nodded. That made two of them.

A faculty member saved them from their sad reunion, ushering them to the seats in front of a podium and stage. The school principal, now a man they didn’t recognize, tried to make a sentimental, thoughtful speech, the school band came in and played a discordant song, and they served stale muffins made days before in the school cafeteria, and all it really did was remind Victor how old he was.

“This thing’s a bit lame,” he whispered to Yuuri. And because that conversation was not at all how he wanted their reunion to go, he added, “Do you want to ditch and grab a coffee? My treat.”  
  
Yuuri blinked, turned to him, and inhaled. “Ditch, huh? Victor, you haven’t changed a bit.”

They snuck out as the school choir prepared to serenade them. They got to the coffee shop, placed their orders, and reminisced.

 

***

 

It was the autumn of their freshman year, the second time in a week that Victor forgot his biology textbook, and just one of the many times that Mr. Feltsman would threaten to throw him out of his classroom.

“Just share with a neighbor,” their teacher mumbled, eyebrows furrowing as he began the lesson. Victor shot an apologetic look to the boy next to him, a chubby guy with black hair that stuck out at the ends and blue glasses that looked too big for him. The boy appraised him, looked to the front of the classroom and back to him, and pushed his textbook to the edge of his desk, closer to Victor. Victor smiled, grateful, and loudly scooted his desk next to him. It interrupted the class for just a second, but in that time Victor swore Mr. Feltsman aged another five years.

The boy took studious notes, Victor noticed. At least, he did for the first half hour of class. But Mr. Feltsman’s voice drawled over an already boring lesson, and their stomachs grumbled for lunch next period, so it was only a matter of time until it became impossible to focus. He watched as the notes devolved from full sentences to messy bullet points to doodles at the bottom of the page.

Amused, Victor turned to a blank page in his notebook (most of them were empty anyways) and drew a tic-tac-toe board. He added an X to the center square. When Mr. Feltsman turned to the chalkboard to draw asymmetrical Venn diagrams, he plopped the notebook in front of the other boy. He adjusted his glasses, blinked at the page a few times, and Victor saw his lips quirk upward in a small smile. He wrote in an O at the top right corner and returned to pretending to take notes.

They went back and forth, and Victor won that game. The boy pursed his lips and drew another grid.

Several tic-tac-toe games later, the score was three wins to Yuuri, two to Victor, and three draws. Victor wrote in long, looping letters underneath all the grids,  _ What’s your name? _

_ YUURI,  _ the other wrote, handwriting in all caps.  _ WHAT’S YOURS? _

_ Victor. Thank you for letting me borrow your book.  _ He didn’t really use it, but it’s the thought that counts.

_ YOU’RE WELCOME. THANKS FOR KEEPING ME AWAKE. _

Victor chuckled. He lifted his pen to respond, then the bell rang, shrill and sharp.

“See you later, Victor.” Yuuri’s voice was quiet and nasally. He packed his bag quickly, and he was gone.

 

***

 

It was the winter of their sophomore year, and they were off-campus at a nearby skating rink.

Victor didn’t recognize him at first. His messy black hair was pushed back, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. But Victor found his attention drawn to him; he had been at the rink longer than anyone. His jumps were sloppy, not enough speed or not enough height, but he took smooth and fluid steps to the rhythm of whatever pop song played on the loudspeakers.

Victor approached him after he flubbed a jump, but Yuuri remembered him first.

“Oh, Victor!” He said, surprised, trying to steady himself on his skates. He almost fell again, but Victor moved to catch him.

“You’re… Yuuri, right? From bio last year?” He helped him get back on his feet.

“Yeah, hi.” Victor had to strain to hear his soft voice over the music and other skaters, their skates gliding across the ice. They couldn’t stop in the middle of the rink, so Victor began skating slowly.

“I didn’t know you skate,” Victor said.

“I just started a few years ago,” he confessed, looking down at the ice.

“Oh,” Victor shifted to skate by his side, “you’re pretty good, for just starting.”

“T-thanks.” His steps faltered, and he brushed against Victor’s shoulder.

Victor’s voice was light. “If you want, I could give you tips.”

“Really?” Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Because that would be… You don’t have to, but that would be—”

“I want to. Think of it as thanks for letting me leech off of you in bio.”

Yuuri laughed and shook his head. He mumbled, “You don’t need to thank me.”

Victor considered then, tapping his lip with a finger. “How about as a winner’s prize, then, for all those tic-tac-toe games?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Yuuri said, bashful.

“Me too, actually.” He never remembered important things, like birthdays or anniversaries or what he needed to study for the biology final. But he did remember the little, unimportant things, like the games they played in Victor’s notebook or the blue glasses that looked too big for his face.

Yuuri searched his face for any sign that he was joking. Upon finding none, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure, okay.”

They practiced for two hours. Two hours of spinning, twirling, falling, almost hitting his head on the outer railing, and Victor’s good-natured yet unhelpful teaching (“The jump just didn’t feel right, Yuuri!”). During a water break, Yuuri said, more to himself, “There should be a figure skating club at school.”

Victor’s eyes brightened, and he gripped Yuuri by the shoulders. “We should make a figure skating club at school!”

 

***

 

It was the spring of their junior year, and Victor sat on the edge of his seat at their school’s spring dance concert, waiting and waiting and waiting for Yuuri’s part.

Yuuri had talked about it for weeks, even skipping out on figure skating club meetings for extra practice. Now that he was an upperclassman, he got a leading part in the choreography. Victor pried, relentlessly curious, requesting him to perform just a snippet.

And every time he asked, Yuuri would blush and say, “If you want to see it, then go to the dance concert.”

So he did. The theater was dark, the seats were squeaky, and the music was too loud, but still Victor searched for his friend with bated breath.

Soon enough, the theater filled with the sound of a guitar, and the spotlight shifted focus to Yuuri.

There was no time to wait and take it in. An upbeat piece of guitar and strings moved Yuuri through the stage. Dancing with quick grace and elegance, he made ballet look effortless, music of movement. Over the years, he had lost weight from ice skating and dancing, and it showed, especially now. He wore a red, long-sleeved leotard decorated with silver and black accents, and black tights that complemented his figure. His slicked-back hair and dramatic eye makeup caught the stage lights, and Victor couldn’t look away. He sat with a hand over his mouth throughout the entire performance, eyes wide as Yuuri executed swift, dynamic jumping steps and sequences.

When Yuuri ended, panting heavily as he held the final pose, he received a hearty applause, though Victor was certain he cheered the loudest.

 

***

 

It was the summer before their senior year, and they were sitting on the floor of Victor’s room, spilling secrets over a bottle of champagne he had stolen from his father’s liquor cabinet.

They met to celebrate the transition from juniors to seniors. They were both curious to drink, but Yuuri’s nerves made him look over his shoulder after every sip, despite the fact that Victor’s door was locked and his parents weren’t home anyway. At first, they chatted about inconsequential things. More private matters came as they worked their way down the bottle.

Maybe it was the champagne, or the spark of night, or just the flat intimacy. Something compelled Victor to divulge something he’d been holding in for months.

“I like you, Yuuri. A lot,” he began after a moment of stillness, “and this is probably a really bad way of confessing it, but… It’s how I feel.” He finished with a shrug, keeping his eyes down and swirling the champagne around the glass. His voice sounded much calmer than he felt, his heart a drum in his chest. It wasn’t often that Victor found himself at a loss for words, but talking about his feelings was a particular weak spot for him.

Yuuri was quiet. He hadn’t run off, or pushed him away, so Victor took that as a good sign. His voice was a murmur, caught in his throat when he said, “Since when?”

Trying to keep himself composed, he spoke gently. “Remember after the spring dance concert? You told me you were terrified that I would make fun of you for doing ballet, and I hugged you?” Victor remembered it vividly. Yuuri was exhausted, sweaty and panting, and he was so tired he practically fell into Victor’s arms when he hugged him. Victor wound his arms tighter, and they swayed together for a while.

“Silly. As if I would make fun of you for something like that,” Victor said, playful, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He pushed against Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I know now.” Yuuri pushed him back, unreadable. As it became quiet again, Yuuri drew his knees up to his chest and exhaled. “Freshman year.”

“What?”

“I’ve liked you since freshman year.”

Victor turned to look at him fully, almost dropping his champagne flute. He could hear nothing over the sound of his heartbeat, louder and wilder than before. “Really?!”

Yuuri nodded. A blush spread across his face. His eyes were downturned, half-lidded. His lips were pink and shiny from the champagne. His glasses, still blue but a bit more fitting these days, caught a reflection of the moonlight. Victor watched as Yuuri gulped, licked his lips, and looked up at him, slow, shy. He was beyond gorgeous, Victor thought, and he was suddenly struck by the urge to—

“Yuuri, can I kiss you?” A whisper. The words came out before he could stop them.

Yuuri blinked, once, twice, and his mouth fell open. After a moment, he nodded, certain.

Eager and yearning, Victor leaned into him at once and missed, brushing against the side of his lips, bumping noses, and almost poking his own eye out with Yuuri’s glasses. He breathed a laugh and apologized. They pulled back, and Yuuri took off his glasses and tilted his head to the side, almost comically. Victor tilted his head the opposite way and brought a hand up to trace Yuuri’s lips with his thumb.

“Second time’s the charm,” Victor said. He kissed him.   


Their eyes fell closed at the press of their lips. Yuuri was tense at first, unresponsive, until Victor cradled his cheek. He relaxed and parted his lips slightly at that, and their breath carried the sweet, slightly acidic taste of champagne. Yuuri made a noise against his lips, and one of his hands found its way to back of Victor’s neck. He gripped a bit too hard, and Victor accidently bit Yuuri’s lip, and they pulled away with soft smiles and easy laughs.

They were each other’s first kiss, and they took it slow, tentative, experimenting and making mistakes. It was awkward, graceless, and they both wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

***

 

It was ten minutes after getting their coffees, and they were finishing up their drinks, wistful smiles on their lips.

“Those were the days,” Yuuri said, looking out a window.

“They were,” Victor agreed. What happened? Ah, right, college happened; Yuuri left to study in Detroit, and Victor had a scholarship for figure skating to claim on the other side of the world. At least the breakup wasn’t too ugly, just a simple drifting apart, not ending in bitterness or hatred, but not full of definite closure, either.

But here they were, reunited, somehow. Victor looked at Yuuri. His black hair was longer but still stuck out at the ends, and his glasses fit snugly on the bridge of his nose but were still blue. He watched the sunlight brighten his brown eyes, and the words came out before he could stop them.

“Maybe we could try again?”

Yuuri smiled and said, “Second time’s the charm, right?”


End file.
